Tower Lasting Testament To Promoter's Batty Idea

July 22, 1987|By Bob Morris of the Sentinel Staff

SUGAR LOAF KEY — There is no sign to point the way off U.S. Highway 1. You must look for mile marker 17 and turn north just past the Sugarloaf Lodge, by the billboard touting airplane rides over the Florida Keys.

Dodge the potholes and wind your way back a quarter-mile or so. Suddenly it looms, standing by itself in a clearing the size of a convenience store parking lot. It is 30 feet tall, with cypress shingles weathered to the color of the sky on an ugly day. Clearly this . . . this thing was built for a purpose. A silo, perhaps? Nah, no grain is grown here. A windmill maybe? Only there are not any blades.

Try -- the bat tower. It is a lasting testament to one of Florida's most well-intentioned, though far-fetched, follies.

I figured it was only fitting that I visit the bat tower because I spent four days in the Everglades donating large quantities of my blood to eager mosquitoes. When the bat tower was built in 1929, they said it would solve Florida's mosquito problems. If it had worked, Floridians would have scratched and swatted no more.

The story begins with Richter Clyde Perky, a Spanish-American War veteran and promoter who hoped to cash in on the boom that resulted after Henry Flagler built the railroad connecting Key West to the mainland in 1912. In 1917, Perky bought a chunk of land and a sponge business on what is now Sugar Loaf Key. The sponge business was a flop. But Perky had a vision. He foresaw a tourist paradise springing up on the Keys, with his property being turned into a world-famous resort.

The big problem was the mosquitoes. They made going out even at midday a risky proposition. But Perky had read about a Texan, Dr. Charles Campbell, who had dedicated himself to wiping out disease-carrying mosquitoes. Campbell chose as his chief weapon bats, one of which can easily eat 1,000 mosquitoes a night. Knowing bats liked to roost in silos and belfries, Campbell designed what amounted to a bat condo. It not only contained hundreds of roosting racks but also a chute for collecting bat droppings, called guano. The droppings would be used for fertilizer. The key to luring the bats to their new home was a special bait, made with a formula known only to Campbell. The towers had worked in Texas, to such a degree that the state legislature there had outlawed killing bats.

So Perky paid Dr. Campbell $500 for the plans, then spent another $10,000 hauling in pine and cypress from the mainland to build the tower. A 50-pound box of the bait -- a vile, foul-smelling concoction reportedly made from dead bats -- was installed. On March 15, 1929, Perky dedicated his tower ''to good health.'' His inscription is barely visible on the concrete foundation.

Only problem -- no bats moved in.

''To my knowledge, not a single solitary bat ever flew into that tower,'' said Fred Johnson, who built the tower for Perky and who, at 83, lives in Key West.

Matters worsened when a hurricane whipped through the Keys that summer. The tower was not damaged, but the odoriferous bat bait lost its stink. And when Perky tried to contact Campbell to get more, he learned that the doctor had died, taking his secret recipe with him.

In the following years, Perky, who died in 1938, was fond of telling his own story about the reason the bat tower was empty. He would tell visitors that the bait had indeed attracted a vast number of bats.

''But when they flew out that first night,'' Perky would say, ''the mosquitoes ate them.''

So the bat tower just sits there. Repaired in 1981 by a local historical society, it is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Every now and then a car will stop by the bat tower, someone will get out, take a few pictures, then head on for one of the many resorts in this tourist paradise.

These days, not only is R.C. Perky's bat tower intact, but so is his vision of what the Keys would become. Insecticides and planes spraying poison control the mosquitoes. And the only people who complain are those who wish all the bugs would return, making this strand of islands in the Gulf Stream just a little less hospitable.